“She had set it up. Enzo said she ran straight to you. I believed Carina would have found a way to contact me if she wanted to. She never did. Then I heard about the marriage. I had no right to claim her once she was your wife.”
“When did you last see Morello?”
“We coordinated a shipment a couple of weeks ago.”
“Did he mention Carina? Anything about the engagement?”
Salvatore shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Where did you meet?”
“One of his warehouses. Previously, we’d gone to my restaurant?—”
“The one she was taken from?”
Salvatore nods. “And he’s been to my home twice. Once for what was supposed to be the engagement party and once when he brought Carina back.”
“You never met at one of his residences?”
Salvatore shakes his head. “He has many. I could get addresses, but?—”
“He wouldn’t take her anywhere you might locate that easily. There’s been no contact. No demands. If he wanted this to be quick, he would have reached out by now.”
He wants me to feel powerless. Wants me to wonder where Carina is and what’s happening to her until I go insane. And it’s fucking working. I brought Carina right to him.
I resume pacing the dining room, just to dosomething. The four men watch me warily.
“I’ve got an address for Isabella,” Luca states. “Cosmo said her parents live there too.”
He speaks to me. They’re all deferring to me. In any other situation, I’d appreciate the sign of respect, but I can’t enjoy the way they’re relying on me. They’re doing so because they don’t know how to help Carina.
“Send the address to Enzo,” I tell Luca. “He and I will go question Isabella’s family.”
Out of Carina’s three brothers, he’s who I’m most familiar with. He handled the ambush in Madrid well. And Carina has mentioned him most frequently. She’s closest with him, and I’m trusting that bond goes both ways.
“Have all the footage from the area where they swapped cars pulled,” I instruct Salvatore. “Track down every vehicle that left that lot. One of those cars is the right one.”
He nods.
“Have your men armed and ready. Once we have a location, I don’t want any delays.”
Another nod.
“Let’s go,” I tell Enzo.
The house Enzo stops in front of is modest. On a quiet street as part of a continual cluster of homes. A stray cat slinks down the cobbled street and into an alley.
“Did your father pay Isabella?” I ask Enzo.
“I assume so, but I don’t know their exact arrangement. He was paranoid about discussing her up until recently, when everyone found out.”
I nod, climbing out of the car and striding up to the front door to knock.
A middle-aged woman opens it. Her eyes are wide and terrified as she scans me, then relaxes some when she sees Enzo. I assume due to his resemblance to Salvatore. If she’s a relative of Isabella’s, she’d know that the Carusos were employers. Protectors.
Enzo starts speaking Italian. I scan what little of the house I can see behind the woman, searching for anything amiss. The interior appears normal.
The woman replies to Enzo. I catch a few words, but miss most of the exchange.
